


Fare Thee Well

by reges_criniti



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: BAFTA Awards, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reges_criniti/pseuds/reges_criniti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It comes as a jarring surprise, seeing Colin pop up at the BAFTAs, looking like some god damn Disney Prince. It all leaves Bradley a little breathless, a little speechless, knocks his world a little off kilter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fare Thee Well

**Author's Note:**

> I really didn't mean for this to become a thing but it just kinda happened.

 

Things fall apart after they wrap on Merlin.

At first it's easy and wonderful: setting their own schedule, their own pace for the first time in their adult lives. Which mainly means lazy days spent sleeping in, staying in bed curled around one another until the sun is high in the sky and Bradley's stomach grumbles loudly. They visit each other's families and cook each other dinners, and suddenly all of Bradley's things are at Colin's place. Because they do everything together now, even more so than before; all the big things and little things done as a pair and it's all achingly sweet and uncharacteristically domestic of them. Or so everyone from their old lives tell them on those weekends when they go out with their _Merlin_ family, drinking and laughing, building new memories while recalling old ones.

But soon even that starts to fall apart too. Eoin leave for America, Tom gets married and settles down, Rupert has a play opening in the West End, Katie lands a role in _Jurassic World._ The list goes on and on. And Colin and Bradley too, they get the itch, the desire to take on new projects, new experiences. For Colin, it's the stage and the Baird; for Bradley, America calls like a shining beacon. In the end, they all leave for bigger things, disperse across the corners of the world. And everything becomes harder then, staying in touch, meeting up, keeping that camaraderie they built and nurtured in French turrets and Welsh sound stages.

They should have seen it as a premonition for all the things to come. Because, as they come to find out, every stereotype and trope about long-distance relationships is true.

They try to make it work at first, taking turns to visit each other on their respective continents when their schedules allow. But their lives continue to unfurl and expand without each other in them and they begin to not fit in to these new spaces, in these new lives they've constructed for themselves.

Like how Colin doesn't like Bradley's American friends. They're _loud_ \- louder than Bradley, which comes as a bit of a surprise to Colin the first time he meets them all. He's so used to Bradley being the center of everything, the High King both on screen and in real life, adored and adoring, leading his knights and friends with a bellow and raucous laugh. It's unsettling to find him in this new dynamic, out on the fringes now, orbiting someone else's charisma.

Compared to these loud men- self identified All-American boys who spend their weekends watching sports all day long, who prefer to drink beer out of cans and bottles instead out of a proper pint glass, who un-ironically use words like _babe_ , who shout instead of talk- Colin feels small, insignificant, out of place. They can't understand his Irish brogue, so he easily slides into Merlin's English drawl just for the heck of it, just to see if they take to him any better. But that doesn't fair much better either, even though they seem to understand Bradley just fine.

And LA is just so big and loud, everything too bright, everything demanding perfection. Colin doesn't like the way it changes Bradley, makes him stare at himself too long in the mirror, frown drawn across his brow. Doesn't like the way that, when they go out to eat, Bradley turns down a cheeseburger and instead chases a piece of kale across his plate before pushing it aside with a mumbled "not really all that hungry, I guess". Colin worries, tries to tell Bradley as much, tries to get him to come back to London, to come _home._

But Bradley's a little tired of London, tired of how rigid and selective it can be, tired of how small it feels. He's built a career and a name for himself and still he's shut out of London’s acting elite. He has no interest in stage, doesn't like the endless repetition of lines and movements night after night in front of crowd who refer to his job as "a craft" and who take the whole thing a little too seriously.

He can't stay and work in England because outside of stage, he knows his options are bleak. He doesn't want to be branded as a period actor, doesn't want a career dressed in cameo and flak jackets bemoaning The War while soundstage produced rain falls unrelentingly down upon his artfully dirtied and dented helmet.

It's easier, in the end, to blame the 5,430 odd miles between LA and London for the gap that grows between them. It's easier using their careers as a shield, an excuse to chicken out and not try harder, to just point out that "sometimes these things happen."

In the beginning it was hard, every day without Colin like a physical ache. Bradley throws himself in to his work, fills every moment of every day so there's no room left for any stray thoughts of big ear and bright blue eyes. It pays off in the end when he lands the title role in an anticipated new show. Between filming he lets himself go out and meet new people; kisses a few girls then, takes even fewer back to his tiny apartment. This new life he's made is simple and easy and fulfilling and there are entire days when he believes, maybe, he's happy.

It all comes as a jarring surprise then, seeing Colin pop up at the BAFTAs, looking like some god damn Disney Prince. It all leaves Bradley a little breathless, a little speechless, knocks his world a little off kilter.

Bradley tries and fails not to gape at the computer screen, at the images appearing there. It's almost like magic how much Colin looks changed. Bradley remembers with a start that his birthday was a month ago, but thirty looks good on him. _Really_ good. A step across the threshold into official adulthood, a trim to his hair, and _pow!_ Suddenly the Colin Morgan that Bradley knew and loved, the Colin he had mapped with fingers and lips and memorized with a million little looks, was gone and replaced with this debonair who appeared like some male Athena, emerging whole and grown and so completely new that it leaves Bradley a little shaken.

But Bradley greedily takes it all in: the cut of the suit, the mousse in his hair, the facial hair that's appropriately scruffy, how he's still terribly hopeless at folding a pocket square. But most of all he notes the smile that doesn't call his dimples in to play, that doesn't even try to reach his eyes (and Bradley's not going to dwell over how tired those eyes look, how vacant and sad they seem).

He picks up his phone, worries his thumb across the blank screen, keyboard taunting him, daring him to say something. He sighs, sinking farther in to the couch cushions, thumb still keeping it's rhythm across the now darkened glass. Eventually he settles for the truth, or at least a facsimile of the truth, the message seemingly light and easy even though it's taken him ages to compose.

_You clean up nicely Morgan. Always have._

He sends the message off before he can change is mind - again- and tosses his phone across the couch like holding it any longer would physically burn him.

He doesn't expect a reply immediately, knows Colin has a penchant for setting his phone on silent and not checking it for hours on end.He tries to do the math, figure out what time it must be in London now, but he gets tripped up, forgets how many time zones – and damn those fickle little devils that sunk their fiendish claws in to their relationship, tearing, clawing, until their last string of phone calls were more static air than words-lie between them. He gives up, settles simply for "late" and tries not to eagerly expect a reply.

But the rosy pinks and reds of early evening soon give way to the lush blues and black of night and still no reply and doubt begins to churn in Bradley's stomach.

What a stupid and foolish thing to do, to say. And after all this time.

Fear strikes like a bolt to the very core of Bradley's stomach. What if he's gotten a new phone, changed his number? What if, at this very moment, a stranger's phone is chirping, Bradley's words appearing on screen and being read by unworthy eyes, his heart's cry falling to deaf ears.

But, no, he reassures himself, Colin is a creature of habit, clings to the simple and predictable things like setting an alarm for the same time every single day, or putting his left shoe on before his right, or keeping the same mobile number he's had since the beginning. He's not like Bradley, who's now changed phone numbers so many times he doesn't even know what it is any more. He's lost so many numbers, let so many friendships fall away accidentally because he's irreparably damaged a phone, or because he’s been too lazy to transfer his contacts all in one go, promising himself instead that he'd get around to it, do it later.

As always, he finds comfort in Colin's rhythms, his predictability. His number is the only one (aside from his Mum's) that he knows and can recite off the top of his head. So he knows it's impossible he's typed it wrong even though he's had to call up a new message because his phone holds no trace of a conversation between the two. (And isn't that a shame in and of itself because Bradley's had this phone for at least two years now and surely it hasn't been that long since they’ve spoken, since they've exchanged pleasantries?)

He sits, safe in his bed, comforter wrapped around his shoulders like a bulky cape. He's always felt stronger with Arthur's bolt of crimson a solid weight on his shoulders. Superman, he thinks, had the right idea of it. Some kids outgrow their wubbies and loveies and blankies, but some kids tie them round their necks and grow up to become kings. So he waits, heart hardened and breaking in equal turns. It's agonizing and humiliating and he's contemplating blowing off the rest of his night to get pissed at the dive bar at the end of his street when his phone comes to life.

_Had to. You set the bar pretty high at the Critic's Choice last week, mate._

Bradley barks a laugh, falling back against his pillow. His heart soars, feels lighter than it has in months. There are a thousand and one things he wants to say in reply; big things like, "It's so lonely here" and little things like, "I think I miss the London weather" and everything in between like, "sometimes I think my fridge is haunted".

He struggles, wanting to say too much, afraid to say too little.

 _I've missed you, Cols_ he finally admits to the glowing screen, thumbs telling truths that are easier to admit in typeface rather than spoken words.

He's been a crowned prince, an imaginary ruler of a legendary kingdom, king and a lionheart in turn, and lets this bolster him, give him the courage to send that kernel of truth out in to the world. If it falls flat, he'll chalk it up to Valentine's day pining and loneliness.

But his misery isn’t long for this world though because

 _Yeah_ comes the reply, faster than his first. 

The screen blips to life again and Bradley clutches his phone, watches the ellipsis bounce before disappearing entirely. Bounce, bounce, gone...bounce, bounce…

Bradley braces himself for whatever Colin's trying- and clearly failing- to say when

_Yeah, me too._

Bradley smiles softly, sadly, feels a tender flame stir to life in his crumbled, ruined heart. It's not much, but it's a start.

 

 

 

 


End file.
